To Entertain Demons
by YamiJessi
Summary: Wolfwood angst, thinking back. So, sitting in the darkness, watching the moonlight dance upon the world he faces his own demons for yet another night.


Title: To Entertain Demons

Author: YamiJessi

Concept: Trigun. Wolfwood perspective/inner monolouge. Angst.

Rating: PG13

Standard disclaimer: No, I don't own it, it didn't happen...it's kinda pointless to sue me because I own very little besides some rats.

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There truly is no such thing as good and evil. It is a shadow cast upon the world fashioned by the hands and whims of men, created to put the wary mind at ease. Everyone loves to pretend that they know where the lines are drawn, but there can be no line other then the edge of our own sanity.

He knew this as surely as he could feel the heated caress of the alcohol as it burned his throat on its descent downward to break the twisted knots in his stomach. His own beliefs of wrong and right were broken, as chipped and torn as the stones of his past. There was no such thing as peace for the wicked, the self-appointed demons of this life. His was a darkness bred of necessity and honed to a knifepoint by choices made swiftly.

There simply was no black and white in his eyes, only shades of gray of such strong brushstrokes that it seemed they were marked by some vengeful artist. A painting of a man, etched by the skilled hand of fate, tinted with the hues of pain and regret. Eyes of ebon that laugh when told and a drawn smile that breaks in those moments alone, this is the portrait life has etched for him. Hollow life, mirroring light to better fit the world, but still so very much a shadow. And a shadow by any other name still seeps with the same darkness.

Once, perhaps a lifetime past, there was light. Innocent was something found only in short degrees now though. Moments of faith and hope still flickered in his life, but were so often buried in thoughts of the ways things must come to pass. No such thing as truth, for all truths are born of lies. Even his existence held a fraction of lie, though that much he hid away. It was difficult enough to face the morning knowing you were empty without having to share this bitter light with others. Yet, even lies have purpose. It was those half truths, he reflected, that gave him the means to do something positive in this world. To offer comfort to the lost, to share a few soft words, what else could one hope to bring to this place? It was a haunted hope though; always blackened by the hues of blood he still felt marring his hands; some stains can never be washed away.

There can be no peace where there is no desire for it. He wanted no part of peace, because he felt he had given up all rights to that sort of rest long ago. To smile for the world is a brave thing when one is in such misery inside. It is their own doing that makes him a monster in his own eyes, the sins of this world tug at his soul. It is a smoking gun, life. One can steady their aim and swear they have purpose, but in the end it is always a shaky hand that pulls the trigger. People do not want to be responsible for the pain and regret, so they avoid it. It falls upon the hands of the heroic to pick up the pieces, though hero is such a skewed word. To be a hero one must play the part of a demon, to drive away darkness one must become a part of it. This much he knew, from the past. It was a past written in blood now, penned with gunpowder upon parchment fashioned from wisps of cigarette smoke. What happiness he could still hold to was so fleeting that much of his joy was false. To play the part of friend one must become the enemy, to save another from themselves one must lose desire for life. He had done all of this, a thousand times over. Alive, yet dead, so conflicted inside, this was his existence. He longed for resolution he knew would never be, and hoped in echoes for paths that were lost too long ago.

One cannot undo the past, and that is often for the best. The pasts molds and creates, breathes life into an empty shell. He is an instrument to some greater purpose that has robbed his soul away to fuel its desires. Yet, he knows this all too well, for he allowed it to happen. He suffers for them, he cries for their own evil, and he feels their pain within his heart. Losing is a part of life, and he is willing to lose so much more, for them. People needed to know their demons and to face them. He was one of those demons, cast in the role of angel. It was this truth that keeps him awake at night, keeps him staring at the empty hotel walls. There was no such thing as good and evil, for each man made his own light and darkness. It was all personal heaven and hell.

So, sitting in the darkness, watching the moonlight dance upon the world he faces his own shadows and entertains his demons for yet another night. It is his path and his savior, this darkness, for it reminds him why he fights so hard for life's morning light. The darkness can seep into a soul, but it cannot make a person evil. To do this, one must give up their hope, and that was not a battle he was willing to lose just yet.


End file.
